#spackle gets personal

[caterjunes]

i'm so so fucking tired

[quarterlifekitty]

Weaknesses part 5: complexes

Note: this is jokes!! Please don’t take my cartoon pathologizing too seriously!

cw: some daddy kink level stuff

Gaz has a soft spot for girls who suffer from oldest sister syndrome. Girls that are a little world weary and too grown up at too young an age from caring for others while not having people to rely on. He just loves how pleasantly surprised you are literally every time he does something helpful that you didn’t ask him to do. Doing the dishes. Spackling that hole from the picture you took down. Refilling the air in the tires. Bleaching the bathtub. Very small things— but you’re so used to being the only one who can stay on top of things. Literally the high he gets from telling you to sit down and relax is unparalleled.

Soap is, quite frankly, into girls who grew up thinking they were ugly. It’s a terribly selfish, but he likes telling you all of the dirty things he thinks of doing to you, how he feels like someone’s knocked him upside the head when you enter a room in a new outfit, how he has to take a cold shower every time you’re going out to some event and he gets to see you dressed up. Honestly, he has to take the cold showers pretty regularly. Seeing how you’re flustered, and you don’t 100% believe the things he says— so he has to put in the time to make you believe him. You’re the kind of girl boys would dare each other to ask out in middle school, and now Soap has the absolute pleasure of convincing you that sometimes you make him so turned on that he thinks he’s about to throw up.

Ghost likes outcast girls. He likes how you eye him with a little bit of suspicion when he chooses to hang around you. He sort of gets this idea in his head that he’s the only one that can handle your eccentricities— handle you. That other people are afraid to approach you but he’s not afraid of anything. That his interest in you is because honestly, he has a much more refined palate than any of the shitheads you’re surrounded by. And you know what? He likes the idea of you as a couple being the scary, freak ass couple. Two lone wolves becoming mates.

Price likes former gifted students. He loves that you’re talented and quick, yes, but he also can’t help but get excited by all of that pressure that’s on you— that you put on yourself. He gets to be the one that relieves it. He’s the one that gets to lavish you in praise, and he’s also the one who gets to pin you down and force you to take it easy for a little while. He loves gently handling any mistakes or missteps, rationally perceived or otherwise. Because he can tell no one’s ever bothered to treat you so gently, have they, sweetheart? They’ve just been content to push you to your limits and have you run yourself ragged because you’re special. You are, he won’t deny it— but you’re also a little thing that hasn’t seen enough nurturing, in his eyes.

König loves so called ��high maintenance” girls. Girls with high standards who know what they want, who have gone through some partners that couldn’t take the heat. He gets a very unique sense of control out of it— knowing all of your rules, rituals, likes, dislikes. Like Ghost, he likes thinking of himself as the only person who knows how to handle you— that everyone before him has just been unworthy of you. That he is strong where others have been weak. And you know what? It’s not rotten work. Not to him. Not if it’s you. He’s just built different.

Nikolai… I’m just going to say it. He likes girls with daddy issues. He kinda throws his whole self into relationships at times, and he likes it when he can be your everything. Your love, your friend, your hero, your source of approval from an older man. And he loves a brat. Because he knows you only act that way because someone didn’t pay attention to his special girl in the past. You’re testing him— daring him, unsheathing your claws to see if he’ll flinch and he never will. He’ll endure it all and chip at your defenses until you’re the soft, satisfied, sweet girl he knows you really want to be. Lavishing you with praise and attention, bragging about you to anyone who will listen. He wants you to have a complete breakdown because you’ve been holding it all in and putting up walls for so long that you don’t even know how to cope with being in the arms of someone who will always catch you when you fall.

[foldingfittedsheets]

With permission I will now be sharing my absolute favorite story from my friend Buck. For flavor, here are some facts about him.

Buck, like myself, is on the spectrum. Most comfortable in a cowboy hat, he grew up rural and was named after his grandfathers favorite horse. He carries that same grandfathers ashes on his person. He is often mistaken for a staff member when he goes to the zoo.

Back when Buck was a small little lad his father took him and his sister out boating. His dad judged that he was old enough to apply his own sunscreen for the day on the water and subsequently filled his tiny hands with a dollop of lotion.

He cautioned, “Here, just be careful not to get it in your eyes.” Buck held out his hands to receive the sunscreen, and his dad turned away to attend to Buck’s sister.

Buck’s dad had only turned away for a moment to start on his daughters protection when Buck’s shrieking cry cut through the warm sunny day. He spun back around to behold Buck, sunscreen spackled completely over his eye sockets, screaming his tiny head off.

Buck’s dad was absolutely flabbergasted by having issued the warning “Be careful of you eyes” only to have his son immediately slap a half a tube of sunscreen directly into his eyes. He couldn’t have foreseen the twists of Buck’s tiny autistic mind.

Buck had looked down at the sunscreen in his hands. He had heard the warning. It naturally made him think- he had to be careful of his eyes… BUT! What about his eyelids? If he didn’t get sunscreen on his eyelids then they might burn!

Tiny Buck could not imagine anything worse than sunburned eyelids and slapped his hands up over his eyes after that brilliant realization, only to instantly self inflict the burning he had hoped to avoid.

[slippery-minghus]

one way or another, keys are due back for my old place on monday. i wanted to get the place spotless, but short of hiring a cleaner that's not gonna happen. and cleaning this place is like trying to polish a dumpster anyway. and like.... they're probably going to try to cheat me out of returning my deposit anyway so why fight it. why push myself so hard when it's not going to pay off anyway.

[radioisntdead]

Too sweet

Alastor x gn reader,

Warnings!!

Mild ooc, reader is dessert themed also kinda imagining they have eyes that resemble 1930's animation but that's just me, casual backstory drop in the middle that's just never brought up again, death, pacing is a little off, Alastor is prepared with angelic steel this time! It does not help whatsoever!

Song: Too sweet

It wasn't a secret that Alastor strongly disliked sweet things, it wasn't a complete hatred but he wouldn't willingly eat any, he preferred bitter things.

It can't be said I'm an early bird

You were as sweet as pure sugar, with that oh so charming smile of yours, your big ol' cartoony eyes, eccentric and positive attitude, not to mention you were quite literally dessert themed, Cake themed outfits, frosted purses, phone case adorned with spackled frosting, sprinkles and charms.

It's ten o'clock before I say a word

You were the most recent addition to the hotel, a few of the hotel's residents didn't quite understand how someone as sweet as you could've ended up in hell, it was theorized that maybe it was an act, a honey coated trap that would lead to the hotel demise or something.

Baby, I can never tell

That was thrown out rather quickly when you kept the same sweetheart persona even when alone, it was just how you were.

How do you sleep so well?

It was concerning to a certain few hotel residents when it was discovered that you had a thing for the Radio demon,

The way your eyes would linger on him for a moment too long, the way you would gaze at him love evident in your eyes.

You keep telling me to live right

Husk gave you a warning one night at the bar, you were sipping on a drink that had more sugar then any drink should, he was cleaning up the bar.

"Look kid, Alastor is a bad decision, this won't end well for you."

"I know." You had responded, twirling around that sickly sweet drink of yours

You weren't naive like your personality seemed to make people think, you knew Alastor was a bad idea, bad news, he was a cannibalistic murderer for heaven's sake!

To go to bed before the daylight

But it was alright to have a small crush that you wouldn't act on, it'd pass eventually but for now it wasn't bad to fantasize about dancing with him, cooking together or about doing something unholy like handholding! Nothing would become of it, you didn't have a good history with relationships anyways.

But then you wake up for the sunrise

Charlie was supportive of your little crush, she had found out about it after accidentally overhearing you drunkenly tell Angel Dust about it, that sugary little drink really did a number on you.

She decided she would try to push you and Alastor together, gently, She was such a great wingman!

After all Alastor tolerated you more than anyone else in the hotel so that's a indication that you might have a chance right? A truly slim one but a chance nonetheless!

You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then

When Alastor began enjoying your company a little too much for his liking it was like he, from his prospective had been thrown into a horror movie and trapped with little to no way out.

He enjoyed some of your antics and reactions.

Don't you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake?

You were helpful around the hotel, helping out with advertising, you'd proofread scripts he had written for his radio broadcast, every time you went out for a treat you brought back some type of pastry or snack for the hotel residents, in particular you'd travel all the way to cannibal town to pick up something for Alastor, you didn't have too, but you did.

Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze?

As time went on the feelings didn't fade, especially since Charlie heavily suggested that the two of you should work together on hotel related things, and that pinwheeled into the two of you spending more time together, getting closer, and eventually you began to avoid Alastor, you had a tendency to ditch the people you were fond of in a way usually in a cruel fashion, you didn't mean too, truly! But you did and you didn't want to risk it with Alastor for his sake and yours.

If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great

You were a known partier back in your day, you died back in the heights of the roaring twenties where you had the money and privileges to go to lavish parties where anyone who was anyone could attend much like the parties Gatsby held in the great Gatsby, you lived what some folks thought the roaring twenties were all about, Flappers, speakeasies, parties and short-lived prosperity.

You were in your twenties, rebellious and reckless, drinking any drink given to you, playing around with people's emotions with those sickly sweet words of yours, taking whatever substance you were given, and a year before the stock market crash, you were found dead on the dancefloor poisoned by a former darling of yours who didn't like that you had left them because things were getting 'too serious' for you.

You didn't handle death well, and in order to keep at least some of your sanity you went to hurling yourself onto the hellish party scene, frequenting speakeasies, trying to keep some sense of what you knew, repeating harmful cycles, but you couldn't do it forever.

And so you gave up the party scene around the mid 40's, burning bridges and leaving behind many scorned people behind.

You were more unstable back then, but you had improved, at least you thought you did taking up the sweet attitude by a couple notches, switching from drinking alcohol each day to drinking sweet smoothies or milkshakes.

You cleaned up your act and you were continuing to keep it clean especially as you checked into the hotel.

No one there knew about your track record and you would like to keep it that way.

But while in this world

The avoidance didn't last long since Alastor cornered you asking why and you blabbered out your feelings in one big ramble.

And that was that.

I think I'll take my whiskey neat

Charlie was ecstatic to learn that you and Alastor had gotten together, Others were concerned particularly Husk, his bets were that either Alastor would end up owning your soul, you'd become just as twisted as Al or you'd end up dead.

None of them would end well for you.

My coffee black and my bed at three

The two of you were opposites, while he took his coffee black and bitter you loaded yours up with milk, sugar and whatever other toppings you wished, when he stayed awake for multiple days in end you snoozed away at night, when he was threatening someone who was messing with the hotel you were trying to defuse the situation with sweet words.

You're too sweet for me

Alastor didn't like sweet things, but he didn't mind you and your sugary sweetness, infact you could say he was growing a little bit of a sweet tooth.

Just the sight of your sweet little smile was enough to cause a slight ache in his heart and that fact that you could be called his now was just wonderful!

You're too sweet for me

He could see himself getting used to all this sweetness, he just needed to make sure no one knew that.

I take my whiskey neat

You smiled, listening intently and sipping on your sweet alcoholic drink while Alastor recounted an encounter he had, a glass of whiskey in his hand whooshing around as he spoke.

My coffee black and my bed at three

It was after a hotel game night mixed with alcohol, the two of you were tired and intoxicated, you were a giggly drunk, laughing at the most mundane things, Alastor was escorting you to your room and much to his surprise it was a challenge as you would stop every few steps to laugh at how the crack in the wall looked like a giraffe or how that stain on the carpet looked like a birthday cake!

You're too sweet for me

By the time he had finally gotten you to your room he was exhausted, you kicked off your shoes leaving them on your floor as you dived into your bed, reveling in the comfortable blankets.

Alastor rolled his eyes as he entered your room leaning down to pick up your discarded shoes to properly put them away in your woredrob, he intended to leave to his own room but you reached out your arms to him making grabby hands, he walked over and leaned in to see what you wanted only for you to suddenly grab him, pulling him down and covering him in the blankets before promptly passing out with your arm wrapped around one of his.

You're too sweet for me

He was going to get up, he truly was but he hadn't slept in hell knows how many days now, and the bed was warm, before he knew it his eyelids were drooped. His shadow thankfully decided to close the door to your room.

I aim low, I aim true and the ground's where I go

The next morning he was greeted by you humming while gently petting his fluffy ears, he wasn't sure you knew he was awake at that point, but he rather liked having his ears petted, at least by you and it wouldn't hurt to savor this moment for just a few more minutes before the two of you would have to deal with the duties that the day held for you.

I work late where I'm free from the phone, and the job gets done

Alastor preferred to have his radio broadcast aired in the morning but sometimes he wouldn't get the chance too, [Maybe he indulged a little too much in his morning time with you]

He would air around eight pm and sometimes you would hang around his tower, doing whatever activity you had brought along until he was done and the two of you would walk back to the hotel, maybe grabbing a bite to eat.

But you worry some, I know

Other nights you would turn on the radio in his room and curl up in a blanket on the leather chair he had, closing your eyes and listening to his oddly soothing voice.

But who wants to live forever, babe?

Alastor didn't particularly believe that heavens gates would accept sinners even if they were redeemed, but nothing is impossible and he, although he doubted it, could be wrong and the Hazbin hotel could be a success in redeeming sinners left and right and you were one of the residents checked in for redemption.

You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate

Alastor moved a piece of your hair away from your face, careful not to disturb your sleeping position on his chair, he could admit to himself that he had gotten attached to you, and he couldn't just have his darling little partner leave him behind to fraternize with the winners above now could he?

The rest of you like you're the TSA

He picked you up from the chair and moved you over to his bed, tucking you in.

If anyone in this damned place could get redeemed it was you.

I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong

And Alastor, well he wasn't the type to be looking for redemption or redeemed, he was even less of the type to blindly follow someone somewhere even if it was you.

He did wish he could see his mother who obviously was in heaven but that simply just wasn't in the cards for him, it was tragic but he did murder people, he died while burying a body after all!

You know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain

Alastor cut into the dead deer he had just sat on his table, he was about to take a bite when he caught a glimpse of you shooting up from his bed looking around in hasty panic before you visibly calmed at the sight of him, with one of your signature surgery sweet smiles that caused swirls in his heart you bid him a good morning.

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape

Alastor strolled into the hotel after a day of errands, only to see everyone cluttered together looking at something you were holding that he couldn't see, you noticed him and waved him over, grinning as you held the red creature in your arms that looked strikingly like Alastor, you went on a small tangent about how you had found the little guy while taking a stroll around the hotel.

If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait

In all honesty he wanted to hurl the creature out the window but you were stubborn in saying that the two of you should keep the catlike creature immediately dubbing it as your son much to Alastor's displeasure.

Until that day

He and the little creature begun a little rivalry, whenever he had his arm around you that thing would try and headbutt it off.

On the plus side you had taken to dressing the little one up in ridiculous little outfits, usually to match you or Alastor, from dessert themed outfits to Alastor's signature suit.

The creature did not like being dressed the majority of the time as the little thing felt it was taken less seriously thanks to the outfits.

It was right, when the little one would strut around the hotel he was usually awe'd over by Charlie and Sir Pentious.

I'd rather take my whiskey neat

Time flew by as extermination day drew closer, preparing became the focus in the hotel, coating weapons in angelic steel, in particular you had a axe that you covered with dessert themed charms finding it funny, because imagine getting taken out with a dessert themed axe of all things!

My coffee black and my bed at three

You had just barely convinced Alastor to prepare to use an angelic weapon, borderline begging him to do so, you didn't know what you'd do if he got taken out or injured because he was too prideful and foolish to use angelic steel in some way.

You're too sweet for me

He just couldn't say no to you when you looked at him with those cartoonish eyes that reminded him of 1930's animation and surgery sweet smile!

You're too sweet for me

It was the night before extermination, everyone was ready, living this night as if they were going to die tomorrow, which they probably will but they had something to fight for! You indulged on the classic surgery sweet drink that you always got, sipping on it as Niffty declared Alastor king roach leading to you chuckling.

I take my whiskey neat

It was the time where everyone retired, laying in bed you gently brushed a hand through his awful haircut, the two of you chatted about what could happen tomorrow and what the two of you would do afterwards because obviously the two of you didn't intend on dying.

You let out a yawn, deciding to call it a night you gave Alastor a light peck before laying your head on your pillow.

My coffee black and my bed at three

Alastor channeled his inner Edward Cullen and watched you sleep, blanket curled around you, that little creature was snoozing by you, dressed in a onesie that you had obviously put on him.

He didn't say it often, or at all honesty but he adored you, the only sweet thing he would willingly indulge in.

He would do anything to protect you, you would survive the extermination, he would make sure of it.

You're too sweet for me

He, infact did not make sure of it.

It was during his little encounter with Adam, the first man had gone to attack him but you had ran in, taking the hit for Alastor.

Resulting in a large gash in your stomach, blood pooled around you as Alastor got a few hits on Adam before turning to you, clutching your body as shadows overtook the two of you, taking you to his radio tower.

You're too sweet for me

Alastor scrambled, his usual composed self gone as you were actively bleeding out, he tried to stop the bleeding but you had already lost too much.

I take my whiskey neat

He held you as he demanded to know why the hell you would jump Infront of him.

You simply smiled, lifting your hand to touch his face, you said three simple words that would be your last, the last thing you saw was Alastor's strained smile.

My coffee black and my bed at three

Husk was right, it would end one of three ways, either Alastor ended up with your soul, you became just as twisted or you died.

And many died that day, the hazbin hotel lost two of its residents, Sir Pentious and you.

Sir Pentious had died for his friends and you had died for the person you loved, sacrifices that landed the two of you into heaven.

You're too sweet for me

Alastor sat in his newly built radio tower, that damned creature that you had brought by his side.

He had managed to survive the hotel collapsing, good for him, unfortunately the person that brought him there didn't survive, and now he was stuck with Alastor, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing anymore.

You're too sweet for me

Alastor despised sweet things, they were filled with sickly sweet sugar that would leave cavities behind in it's wake, even after being brushed away it would still leave some damage like you did, you left him like you had left others before only this time it was unwillingly, you were the sweetest thing he'd ever known, he made a unfortunately decision to get attached to you and now he paid the consequences, he would be unintentionally haunted by you, reminded of you every time he saw the portrait they hung of you in the hotel along with Sir Pentious or even with the cat that looked like him.

He wouldn't be making the mistake of falling for someone again that was for sure.

It's not like he could if he wanted to anyways.

Good evening folks! I hope you enjoyed this! I wrote it all in one day, I didn't write it because I got tired but the reader is totally fighting people to go back to Alastor, just "I JUST DIED AFTER TELLING HIM I LOVED HIM, THAT IS TRAUMATIZING"

[uchidachi]

What if…. What if the Veil is not so much something bad that needs to be destroyed, but is something important that Solas (mis)used in the past, and now it needs to be carefully taken down, repaired, and returned to its original state?

I’m struggling to think of a non-cloth metaphor, because “veil” is already a cloth metaphor, but I’m a sewist so this is what you get:

What if your family had an heirloom embroidered gown, with an intricate design panel, and it was really really important (for a Purpose) so it was preserved and handed down for years, until one family member (who thought they had a very good reason) had the embroidery panel removed and framed and hung on the wall.

And although the alteration might have been done skillfully, there was a consequence to this action — the dress is now unwearable, and maybe also the frame is damaging the wall? Idk the metaphor isn’t perfect. So many generations later someone decides that they want to reassemble the original dress (for the Purpose), but they lack the ability to un-frame the panel, so they hire some dude to do it (Corypheus) and this person totally ruins the whole thing. There’s a huge gash in the fabric, and many smaller threads are constantly coming undone.

(Pause for editorial: I think this may have happened because Solas thought Corypheus would be unwilling or unable to directly damage the Veil, only whatever was keeping it “up”. He was wrong.)

So the family pins the remains of the panel in place (sealing the breach & tears, the “measuring the veil” sidequests) and takes the time to hire a professional restorer to make it stable enough to remove from the frame.

Then, right as they are freeing it from the frame, the cat (rook) knocks over their ladder and they put a big hole in the wall. Now you’ve got a half-removed, still-damaged panel, AND a hole in the wall to deal with. Plus the original wall damage caused by hanging it up!

Do you see where I’m going with this?? So there’s a number of ways this could end now.

Maybe the wall will be fixed, the drill holes spackled, the embroidery panel restored pristinely, and the gown good as new. The cat is scolded for getting underfoot, but everything is returned to its natural place, and they all lived happily ever after…. HIGHLY UNLIKELY

More like: The family tries to repair both the panel and the wall, but both will bear scars of the attempts to part them. The restorer will do their best, but the gown will never be what it once was. And it was never going to be perfectly restored. Once the panel was removed, the dress was irrevocably altered. But now, with embroidery reattached, it may still be worn, and serve its Purpose.

And maybe you will commission a new, second embroidery to hang on the wall. One that was made specifically to hide the scars.

That’s my theory, at least.

[normal-internet-user]

So I’m absolutely loving Raph even more after the new tmnt, he’s just sooo…squishy?

Any way could I have an Raph x reader where she takes care of him, his brothers and father?

Like even though there mutants there still turtles (and a rat…kinda) so reader basically cleans the lair and puts up heat lamp spots with a chill rock, seals any cracks and windows to keep the drafts out, gets them to eat turtle appropriate food, even fixes there rooms and gives them beds they can uses, and a “shallow “ pool for them to chill out in with filtered water.

And when reader coos at Raph and goes to clean themselves after doing everything, they all look at him and tell him he better marry her one day.

OMG YES! Raph is best boy. change my mind. oh thats right, you can't. Because he is. I also noticed you used female pronouns so I made it a Fem reader!

SHE'S A KEEPER

♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡

Summary: Reader shows up to the Lair with a boatload of supplies, set on making it more homey for her boyfriend's family of 5.

Warnings: Nope!

Requested: Yes!

Female Reader!

.........................................

With a huff, you dropped the last of your supplies at the entrance to the Lair.

The boy's were out on patrol, leaving behind only their father, and after asking him if it was ok, you had decided this place needed to undergo some renovations, but, first, you had some food that needed to be sorted away in the kitchen.

You had decided the family needed some healthier food options, because pizza bites and kool-aid, is not a balanced diet.

After sorting away the turlte and rat friendly foods, you walked back into the main room.

You eyed the cracks in the walls with a scowl, rolling up the sleeves of your sweater. You pulled the spackle from one of the many boxes you had brought.

You set the item down by the nearest wall, before making your way to the kitchen closet where a small ladder was kept.

Once the ladder had been aquired, and after you had put on your music, you spent the next 45 minutes sealing any and all reachable cracks.

You smiled proudly at the finished project. The spots needed to be painted, obviously, but that was a job you know Mikey would be more than happy to do.

Turning back to your supplies, you pulled out your to-do list. Next up was making a designated area for all the heat lamps you had bought.

You scanned the immediate area, finding a corner that was packed full of clutter. You sighed, and then began to remove the boxes and crates, replacing them with a huge pile of bean bag chairs, blankets and plush pillows.

An inflateable rubber pool right next to the pile. The pool was just enough for the boy's to submerge themselves, and after much testing, you had even determined it completely Raph-Proof.

You surrounded the soft mound, and empty pool with all the large stand-up heat lamps you had bought. The store cleark had certainly looked at you olddly at the amount, but who could blame 'em?

What normal person purchases 10 industrial size stand-up heat lamps?

You stood back to admire your comfortable master peice, using all of your will power not to fall face first into the tempting fluff pile.

Turning away from the pillows, you determined the pool properly inflated, you grabbed a bucket, and so began your back and forth mission from the kitchen to the pool.

This process took about 25 minutes, plus the 45 used to set up everything else. You knew the boys would be back soon, so you decided to clean up, deeming the completed projects enought for the day.

You returned the ladder to it's proper place, picked up and put away the spackle, and moved all the crates and boxes to an out of the way area.

You had started on your way to the kitchen to wash your hands when the boy's returned. You smiled at your boyfriend and his brothers, "Welcome back! I have a surprise for you guys."

Raph opened his mouthe to speak but Mikey beat him to it, "What is it? I love surprises."

"See? This is why (Name) is my favorite."

You laugh and motion for them to follow you. You lead them over to the mound of pillow, and bean bags, sitting next to the pool.

"Ta-da!" you wiggled around your hands to make jazz hands.

"Oohoooo yeah!"

Leo flung himself onto the heated pile, churring lowly. Mikey following quickly, "You're the best (Name)!" he said as he snuggled into a pillow.

Donnie removed his battle shell so he could join his brothers. Leo grabbed Donnie by the arm, and dragged him into the pile, "Leo!"

"Oh, relaaaxx, Donnie! Enjoy the heat!"

"Screw you, 'Nardo, I'm laying in the pool."

Leo shruggs, and relaxes into the beanbags once again. You smiled and moved to walk away, but Raph picked you up, then fell backwards onto the pile on his shell.

Raph moves you off of his plastron, then rolls over so his shell was aimed at the heat lamps, with his arm thrown around you to keep you from leaving.

"Hey!" you protest, trying to get up.

Raph shook his head, "Nope, you're gonna lay here with me, Sweetcheeks. Where it's nice and warm."

You huffed, and crossed your arms, doing your best to hide your smile. You sigh before looking over at Raph, "Ok, this is actually really nice."

"See? I knew you'd like it. Thank's by the way, this is awsome."

You pat his arm, "You're welcome, Raph. Oh, and I also filled the cracks in the walls, the ones I could reach anyway."

"You really are amazing."

You blushed, but before you could respond, Donnie spoke, "Indeed she is, Raphael, and-"

Leo cut him off, "And if you don't put a ring on her finger, then I will be very upset."

"Yeah! I want (Name) to be my older sister!" Mikey chimed in.

You and Raph looked at each other, Raph opened his mouth to speak, but Splinter walked in, and interruped, "I agree, Red you must marry her."

"Guys!"

You giggled, and looked at your boyfriend as he scolded his family. A smile on your face, because you completely agreed with the others.

But, Raph would have to find that out in the future.

.........................................

All done! I have a few more drafts that I'd like to get done, but I have all weekend for those, so.

@that-teen2003 💕

[mooblybloom]

I was reading a Robin x beast Boy fanfic because I recently found out I actually really like the ship cause it's kind of adorable but anyway off topic

And I thought of a very sad headcanon which makes no sense because the thing I'm reading is very fluffy

The fluffy inspiration

But anyway the head cannon

Garfield Logan or beast Boy has frequent nightmares due to this he has insomnia The little time he does get sleep it's constantly plagued with images of the past and anxieties of the future in these bouts of nightmarish fever he shifts into any animal to defend himself within the dream but it happens in real life and he finds himself swinging at the walls of his room in the Titan Tower and every time he wakes up he sees the scratches and thinks about how it would worry the team so he finds himself repairing the drywall with spackle in the sometimes late night or maybe even early light of the morning but the drywall looks out of place so he paints the wall over, covers it in murals of twisting vines and pretty flowers and all kinds of things some are sloppy and some are elegant but it fits his personality perfectly so whenever there's a new doodle on his walls it means there is a new scratch that has been repaired not that the team knows that. So from his team's point of view he just really likes art and has a knack for painting but from his point of view it's hastily covering up secrets so he can keep the fragile sense of calm in the tower

And wow you guys I did not mean to be so wax poetic about this shit this was supposed to be a simple little headcanon it was not it is full of trauma

[olderthannetfic]

Wait, there are people who judge others based on the races of the authors whose books they read? How many people actually care enough to look up that stuff? I don't know who the authors are of books I like and read unless I see a random info about them while looking up the book itself. Same with musicians cause if I like a song, I like a song and usually don't care about who exactly sings them. Like I'd probably know their names but anything else I wouldn't really care about.

Like when I was a kid I would call myself a fan of Backstreet Boys cause I like a lot of their songs but I probably won't be able to identify them in a photo unless someone points out exactly who they are (I still don't even know the members names actually lol). This is even less for authors cause getting my hands on multiple books by the same person is more difficult than just hearing a random song someone else is playing on their radio somewhere.

--

I think most people have less trouble acquiring more books by the same person and do tend to know about the boy bands they like...

But yes, caring what authors a rando reads is a sign someone needs to rethink their priorities.

It mostly comes up when someone already doesn't like their little internet enemy and is looking for excuses. Usually, what they actually mean is like "You like Twilight! U suck!", just with social justice spackled over it.

[foggyfanfic]

The Jorge Situation

Welcoming Antonio

Preview: Bruno hovered awkwardly for a second, briefly lost for what to do. He had played support with each one of his sisters’ pregnancies, but childbirth could be unpredictable. He mentally reviewed his memories, forming a rough to-do list out of experience.

Read on AO3

Bruno hummed a little tune to himself as he mixed the spackle, he was pretty good at it by now, but wasn’t sure if it was right to be proud of himself. On the one hand, the only reason he had learned how to mix spackle in the first place was because his magic house was going through some sort of crisis. On the other, he had learned a new skill, one he thought he’d never get the hang of. Look at him, Bruno Madrigal, mixing spackle and patching up cracks like a person who knew how to do things. It was hard to not be at least a little proud.

His wife was proud of him, but these days saying Leandra was proud of him was sort of like a young kid saying their mom thought they were special. It was great having a loving wife, really great, great enough that Bruno paused to knock on the wood around him because he would really like to continue having a loving wife. So it was great, but she wasn’t the most objective of people when it came to his accomplishments. Julieta seemed impressed too, but lately Juli wasn’t that objective either. Any time Bruno interacted with Mirabel in front of either Julia or Agustín they’d get this look in their eyes. Julieta was better at hiding it than Agustín, who had pulled him aside on more than one occasion to double check that Mirabel wasn’t in any physical danger. Then he would hug Bruno and thank him for protecting her.

So, yeah. Neither of those two were good people to ask if it was alright for Bruno to be proud of his new skill.

Pepa would be perfect, if she knew about the cracks, especially if Félix was with her. He would give a low whistle and tell him it looked good, then Pepa would tell him how vocal he could be about his spackling skills without people getting all uppity. Sadly, if Pepa knew about the cracks, she would constantly be storming, so they had to keep her in the dark.

Bruno continued humming as he got out his spade and picked up a glob of spackle. Carefully, he filled in a crack, then smoothed the spackle against the wall. It was almost meditative, now that he’d gotten the hang of it. He spent a good half hour like that, feeling content, thoughts falling in and out of him while he watched the cracks disappear under his practiced hands.

Then, a new crack appeared before his eyes.

Followed by another.

And another.

Casita shivered, all of the cracks healed, then a few more were created. Slowly, Bruno stood from his stool and backed as far away from the wall as he could, watching cracks appear and disappear in rapid succession.

“Um, Casita?”

Casita shivered again, but otherwise didn’t respond. A bit of plaster landed on Bruno’s shoulder and it suddenly occurred to him he maybe didn’t want to be in the walls while whatever was happening happened. Moving as quick as he could in the dark, narrow corridor, he rushed for the hole that would take him out of the walls. After a couple turns a crack opened in the floorboards right in front of him, and he tripped on it, cutting the top of his foot. He swore through his teeth, but didn’t pause to examine the damage.

Usually, Bruno was very careful to check the coast was clear before exiting the walls, but with the whole house going crazy around him, he elected not to bother. Which was why, as he climbed out of the hole, he came face to face with Félix.

“Bruno?! What?!” Félix took a few startled steps back, dressed in a soaked yellow bathrobe and similarly damp under shirt and shorts.

The house shivered again and a burst of wind almost knocked Bruno back into the walls. Félix grimaced visibly.

“Nevermind, glad you’re dressed, can you go get the midwife?” Félix asked in a rush, already walking past Bruno to get to Julieta’s door.

“The mid-?” Bruno started to ask, thunder cut him off and realization struck him, “Oh! Oh dios! Right. The midwife, I-I’m on it.”

He closed the painting and jogged to the stairs, ignoring the way his foot stung. His sandals slapped noisily against the shivering steps, he pulled his hood over his head as he burst out of the stairwell and into the rain. The tiles shook under his feet, slick with rain as they were it took all of his concentration to get to the front door. Once he did he found that the storm was thankfully isolated to just the sky above Casita. For the time being at least.

Once he was on dry, non-slippery ground, Bruno sprinted as fast as he could to the midwife’s house. He knocked urgently, gasping for breath. Thankfully, she must have heard the thunder, because she opened the door almost instantly, already carrying a bag full of her supplies.

“The babe is early,” she shouted over the wind that was creeping into town.

“You’re telling me,” he yelled back, still catching his breath.

The Madrigal family’s preferred midwife, Alexia Moreña, was just a few years older than his Má. She had helped Julieta and Pepa with all of their pregnancies, and had helped them find Amada a wet nurse when she was brought to them. She was one of those people in town who had never looked at him with any scorn, and one of the few he would break some of his own rules for when it came to visions. She never asked for frivolous visions, she only ever came to him when it was important (usually when it involved the health of a newborn or new mother), so he never turned her away.

He led her back to Casita, and helped her cross the courtyard to the stairs. Once they had made it to the second story, she brushed him off and disappeared into Pepa’s room.

Bruno hovered awkwardly for a second, briefly lost for what to do. He had played support with each one of his sisters’ pregnancies, but childbirth could be unpredictable. He mentally reviewed his memories, forming a rough to-do list out of experience.

A door cracked open behind him, he turned and found Camilo peeking out of his room, yawning.

“Tío Bruno? What’s going on?”

Step one, check on all the kids and make sure they stay away from the birth.

“Oh uh, well um, your Má uh-. Pepa is going into labor,” he cringed over the words, rubbing at his arm.

“What?!” Camilo squawked, he began to run to Pepa’s room, but Bruno caught him around the middle.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on kid, what are you doing?”

“I-! Well-. I don’t know, going to see if I can help?” Camilo looked up at him with wide helpless eyes, “What do we do? Do we uh get towels and hot water and stuff? Like in your story?”

Bruno couldn’t help but smile at his nephew, he was a mischievous kid, but a kind soul, “If the midwife sends for them. This can take hours, uh actually, you took almost a whole day. We usually hang around the house and just sort of be ready to help if it’s needed. You know? Try to get some rest, actually. The midwife might send you into town to pick up supplies when the market opens tomorrow, so uh, s-some of us should be well rested.”

“What are you going to do?”

Bruno shrugged, “Take the first shift.”

“The first shift?”

“Yep. We do this in shifts. Even if the labor goes by quick your Má will be exhausted tomorrow, she’ll need extra support. And a lot of food.”

“Shifts. Ok, we do this in shifts. Got it,” Camilo nodded, still looking a little jittery, but also as serious as a ten year old could ever be, “I can do shifts.”

“I know you can,” Bruno said, patting him on the shoulder.

Camilo nodded again, then turned and walked back to his room, muttering something about resting up so he could be ready. Bruno smiled at his back. He’d have to tell Pepa about this, it would warm her heart.

He checked on the rest of the kids, explaining what was happening to Mirabel and Octavia, who had both been woken up. Dolores was also wide awake but already knew what was happening, she made sure he knew she was available to help, showed him where the entrance to her sanctum of silence was this week, then disappeared into it until she was needed. Lastly, he shooed Luisa back to bed, who had also surmised what was happening, but was just as panicked as Camilo had been. She only agreed to go sleep once Bruno had pointed out they might need her gift in the morning to clear away storm debris.

Leandra had apparently woken up and been shooed back to bed while he was out fetching the midwife. When he checked on her, she sleepily told him she had been assigned to relieve Julieta if needed, and keep the kids busy if not. He kissed her good night, then retreated to the bathroom and finally checked on the cut on his foot.

It had long since stopped bleeding, so he cleaned it up then mentally declared it good to go.

When he left the bathroom, his Má was just leaving Pepa’s room, frowning worriedly, she saw him and gave him a rueful smile, “I always hate this part. The waiting. If I had my way-. Well, it doesn’t matter. I am going into town first thing tomorrow to see if the crib is ready, it has been recommended I rest, however if anything happens, anything at all. Come wake me.”

“Of course Má,” he said, nodding loyally. The crib had gotten damaged while in storage, so they had sent it to the woodworker for him to replace what was cracked. Their Má was the most logical choice to go pick it up and politely pressure the woodworker to hurry up and finish it if necessary. However, it was entirely possible she had been kicked out because she always got really nervous when Juli or Pepa went into labor, and that apparently wasn’t the energy either of them needed at such a time.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Julieta once said, “it’s always nice to see how much she cares-.”

“But does she have to show it just then?” Pepa had groused, “It’s already stressful enough without Má trying to crush my hand and constantly asking me if everything feels normal!”

Juli had nodded, “Especially since-, what even is normal in childbirth?”

“Pain,” Pepa had said, “and our Má freaking out.”

Julieta had chuckled and nodded again, then the conversation moved on.

In the here and now, Bruno kissed his mother’s cheek and once again promised to fetch her if she was needed. When she was gone, back to her room to pretend to sleep, he slipped into Pepa’s room. He was greeted by less noise than he had expected, Pepa wasn’t in bed yet, instead she was sitting on the couch in her entryway with Julieta. She smiled at him in greeting, but he could see the worry around her eyes. It would seem the storm outside was not caused by the labor itself.

“H-hey,” he greeted, quietly, “how’s it going?”

“Fine, fine, the contractions are still pretty far apart. Félix and Alexia are getting the bed ready for the hard part,” Pepa said, almost managing to sound casual.

“Bruno, you had a vision of her son, sí?” Julieta did not bother to sound casual, “Will you please tell her he’s going to be perfectly healthy?”

“He’s almost a month early,” Pepa said, “it’s not unusual to be a bit worried.”

Thunder crashed outside, like a symphony running into a brick wall.

Julieta raised a pointed eyebrow at Pepa, “A bit?”

“Oh hush.”

“He will be healthy,” Bruno reassured her, “healthy and happy and a little bit shy.”

“A little shy?” Pepa asked, voice suddenly a little wobbly.

“Sí, he’ll be a sweet kid,” Bruno sat on her other side, “in my vision he was maybe a year old, and hiding his face in your blouse while the church choir cooed over him.”

“Oh,” her eyes welled with tears, she wiped at them and made an attempt to scowl at him, “Bruno, y-you can’t tell me things like that! Not now when my emotions are already all over the place. Do you want to drown the town?”

“Myeh, it’ll be good for the crops. Especially given all the sunshine they’re about to get,” he plowed on, “this kid is going to be the most fucking adorable little baby you’ve ever seen.”

She laughed a little watery chuckle at his cursing, then put her head in her hands and groaned. He made sympathetic eye contact with Julieta, and they both sat silent and still next to her, waiting.

“I hate this part,” she eventually said.

“Oh?”

“Sí. I already feel crazy enough without-. My emotions are so much right now,” she lifted her head and scowled at the nearest window. Lightning flashed in response to her frustration. With nothing to say, he rubbed her back and Juli took her hand, holding it securely.

The labor didn’t last quite as long as Camilo’s had. No sooner had Alexia returned and declared the bed ready than Pepa’s contractions started speeding up. They got her into the bed, Bruno on one side, Félix on the other, and Julieta helping Alexia. Occasionally, Bruno would run and fetch whatever the women needed, so that Félix could stay with his wife through the entire birth. He would get the occasional glance at the clock as he did so, and each time was surprised to see how much time had passed.

During his last errand, refilling the pitcher of drinking water, Bruno walked into the kitchen and was greeted by Leandra, Agustín, his Má, and all of the kids while they ate a silent breakfast. As the pitcher filled, he updated them.

“We’re probably going to need that crib sooner than later, but it’s going well, Pepa said it’s the easiest birth yet,” he said to his Má, then to Camilo, “and your Má has been craving citrus, do you think you could help her with that?”

Once the pitcher was full he hurried back. Pepa wasn’t quite screaming when he entered the room, but the noise coming out from between her clenched teeth certainly wasn’t one of serenity. He refilled a few glasses then took up his spot next to Pepa, holding her hand as she started to push.

In another universe, Bruno wasn’t there for this, in another universe he was on the other side of the wall, praying while Agustín fetched whatever was needed, Abuela left to get the crib, and the kids sat in the dining room by themselves wondering what they should do. In that universe the cut on his foot didn’t get cleaned until long after Antonio was born, until it was too late to stop the cut from getting infected and he spent the next week limping, worried he might have to cut his foot off. (It would serve him right if he did, he thought to himself as his foot throbbed, his sister had needed him and he'd sat there uselessly, listening to her scream). In that universe, he had to wait until Antonio was old enough to sleep in the nursery and Mirabel was away at a sleepover to hold his nephew for the first time. In that universe he never forgave himself for not being there, even when he came out of the walls.

In this universe he wiped his sister’s brow and backed up every encouraging word spilling out of Félix’s mouth.

Antonio came into the world with a little wail, and out the window Bruno saw sunlight and rainbows chase away the storm. Félix grinned broadly as he cut the cord and helped Alexia clean the newborn, he kept telling Pepa how great she did, how perfect their baby was. If Pepa had enough energy she would have sobbed from sheer joy, but instead she just smiled, tears slipping down her face. Bruno wiped those away too and gave her a gentle smile when she looked at him with weary gratitude.

In the meantime, Julieta noticed the cut on Bruno’s foot, she gave Bruno a spare arepa and the cut disappeared from memory just as it disappeared from his flesh. He smiled at her gratefully, and she almost smiled back, to worn out to offer anything more than a quick, loving twitch at the corner of her lips. She hugged him, then gently stroked Pepa’s damp curls and asked if she thought she could manage a couple bites of arepa.

“Ugh, unfortunately the only thing that sounds worse than trying to keep down food right now is not letting you heal me,” Pepa groaned, weakly holding a hand out for the arepa. Julieta gave it to her, and she managed three whole bites before she shook her head and shoved it away, complaining of nausea.

Félix brought Antonio over to her and she cried some more as she held her baby boy for the first time. They all cooed over him for a little, until Juli and Alexia left to rest. Then it was just Bruno and the not-so-new parents; while they basked in their joy he fetched another pitcher of water, some clean blankets, and a bucket just in case Pepa’s nausea got worse. Alexia had taken the soiled blankets to be properly disposed of, so Bruno put down fresh sheets while Pepa fed Antonio and Félix got her to eat a little more. Eventually, Pepa had drifted off to a much needed sleep and Félix tucked her in, while Bruno held his newest nephew.

“I told her you’d be the most fucking adorable baby ever,” he whispered down at the sleeping infant.

“Right as always, ‘mano,” Félix murmured then suppressed a yawn. He held his hands out and Bruno gave him his son back. Félix settled onto the bed next to his wife, propped up against the headboard, and looked down at his youngest with open adoration, "Ay, little Antonio. I don't suppose you saw what his personality will be like?"

"Shy."

"Shy," Félix repeated, he chuckled and shook his head, there was a long pause in which they both just stared at the baby, then Félix asked, "Do I want to know what you were doing behind that painting?"

"Weird seer stuff," Bruno said, the answer falling past his lips with little thought. Which was good because it bought him enough time to consider what he should say next, Leandra had told him a few times that the truth was always easier to keep track of than a lie, so if he had to answer a dangerous question find a truth he didn't mind sharing.

"Weird seer stuff?"

"You know how I uh have little hammocks for my pet rats? And um how Casita lets rats stay in the walls as long as they don't go in the kitchen?"

"You made little hammocks for the rats in the walls?"

"Yeah-huh."

Félix laughed under his breath, then yawned, "Never change Bruno, never change. But uh get out. Sorry, nothing personal. I just want to be alone with my wife and son for a little."

"That's fair," Bruno said, with a nod as he backed towards the door, "see you when- uh see you later."

Bruno heaved a yawn of his own and left. Agustín was mopping up in the courtyard below while Leandra had organized the children into a fruit juice production line. Everyone asked him questions at once. He didn’t actually understand the individual questions, so he answered the basic gist of what they were asking.

“Baby- Antonio is adorable, and healthy. Pepa is exhausted, a little nauseous, and also healthy. I am exhausted, well uh n-not exhausted as Pepa, obviously, but-. Tired. I am tired. And officially off the clock, good night,” he said, while swatting the air as if to bat away any more questions.

“Alright, you heard the man, nap time for the night shift,” Leandra told the kids, “that means we all need to be quiet and let them sleep.”

“Aye aye Capitan Má,” Octavia shouted, saluting.

“Do you know what the word 'quiet' means?” Camilo asked her.

“Right, sorry,” Octavia put a hand over her mouth.

“Do you think she still wants citrus?” Mirabel asked.

“When she wakes up she’ll probably be starving,” Agustín said, barely loud enough for Bruno to hear as he opened his door, “we should have as much food ready to go as possible.”

“We’ll make a list-,” Leandra was saying as he shut the door behind him. He trudged down the stairs to his sleeping cave, pushed through the flaps of his tent, shuffled to his bed, and collapsed onto it.

He was fast asleep before it occurred to him he should have taken his sandals off.

[expatesque]

Unsolicited advice but: I really encourage everyone, including renters, to learn a little DIY. There is something massively empowering about being able to fix problems, even if it's just little ones. Like a few weeks ago the neighbors damaged my fence and the top part of a section fell off. I definitely could have had the landlord repair it but I had friends coming over in a few hours and I wanted it to look nice. So I got out my drill and fixed the thing in 5 minutes.

Being comfortable with DIY also gives you more ownership of your home, even if it's only your home temporarily - learn to spackle holes so you're not worried about hanging pictures, get comfortable painting so you can make the space feel like yours.

Especially ladies, we often aren't taught this stuff but with youtube and asking advice in hardware stores, everything is possible. Buy yourself a drill, use it - you'll feel like a new person, I promise.

[cunty-hunty8]

why seigfried is frank ocean’s best song and how i interpret it:

the first three lines start with the memory/description of a loved one

“the markings on your surface, your spackled face. flawed crystals hang from your ears.”

the next two talk about not being able to relate to people around, because maybe he wants something completely different from what they have and from what’s expected of him

“i couldn’t gauge your fears, i can’t relate to my peers”

now he talks about preferring to be himself, out in the world even though it’s hard being a queer black guy

“i’d rather live outside, i’d rather chip my pride then lose my mind out here”

he goes more in depth on what he’s kind of afraid and decides he is not brave enough to settle (when actually, he’s braver for choosing to be himself*)

“maybe i’m a fool, maybe i should move and settle, two kids and a swimming pool. i’m not brave”

*and he kinda knows that

“brave”

“im not brave”

he keeps describing this feeling of doing things he didn’t want to do

“been living in an ideia, an ideia from another man’s mind”

and then he finally settles a bit with what he wants and who he is and says

“i’d rather live outside, i’d rather go to jail, i’ve tried hell (it’s a loop)”

and this is a surreal feeling, of being in a loop, of feeling that when you think you got somewhere and you’re improving, understanding yourself and being authentic because you’re finally out, you understand that this, the suffering and the not belonging never really stops, it’s a loop. and it’s so fucking crazy that he says

“this feels like molly must feel”

and maybe you start looking back and thinking that maybe it was easier before, you weren’t yourself, but you had something, some security, someone, maybe…

“this is not my life, it’s just a fond farewell to a friend. speaking of nirvana, it was there”

he may be referring to his younger self here

“there with my crooked teeth and companion sleeping”

and here he just goes deep in thoughts and dreams the ones you have when you’re searching for something, like a belief or a purpose, and there you can be whoever you want

“that could think of a dreamer that thought, that could think of dreaming and getting a glimmer of god”

and then he’s talking about how this all might seem worthless but life goes too quickly not to wonder, no to dream

“less morose and more present, dwell on my gifts for a second. a moment one solar flare would consume, so why not”

he uses drugs too cope, to think about things and cry about this person

“eat some shrooms made me have a good cry, about you”

and at the end he repeats

“i’d do anything for you, in the dark”

and we don’t know if that means he’s still hiding after all but we know he still loves this someone enough to consider this. but it’s a loop so…

and on top of these deep, relatable lyrics we have this amazing sounds, giving this sensation of a late summer you remember fondly, sad ‘cause you can’t go back and beautiful ‘cause you can remember.

it can’t get better then this, honestly.

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Banner by @keltii-tea​

Chapter 26: A Lost Cause

Heisenberg's boots slammed into stone. The impact rang through him, echoing into the snowy darkness. He heard Mia's too-fast breathing, felt her warmth against him, her arms hooked around his neck, her face pressed to his scruffy cheek.

After a beat, her arms slid free, and she stood on her own, by his side in the darkness.

Around them spread the pit. They stood on a chunk of broken fortress, red brick seared black from the force of the bomb. Past its edge rang empty air, the depths of the crater. Where they stood, moonlight illuminated well enough to see, but in those depths there was nothing, no trace of light. Just the echoes of lycan snarls, the occasional clatter of falling stones, a deep, subsonic rumble that might have been rock shifting, might have been something else.

Water rushed close by, a gout pouring from a gap between two fallen pillars. It spackled Heisenberg's face with cold mist as he strode to the edge of the platform to shine his hip flashlight down into the dark.

It yawned below, endless and absolute. Mist and fog and a kind of grimy haze unfurled around him; each inhale stung with cold, and mold, and the smell of a place long-since removed from the sun. Usually, a big pit full of garbage was Heisenberg's idea of a perfect vacation. Less so right now. Chalk that one up to circumstance.

"I guess that's where we're headed," Mia muttered.

"Guess so."

She sniffed. "In sickness and in health, right?" she said, with a hiccuping little laugh. Then, in a kind of rush- "God, I miss him."

"Yeah?"

"Everything," she pressed. "Everything about him. You know- when I first met Ethan we were just a couple dumb college kids and I..."

Her laugh softened. "I thought he was unbelievably boring."

"Heh. No kidding."

"It was at this house party I didn't even want to be at, and he was in the corner with a red solo cup, and he was dancing to the music in the straightest way possible, I mean-" She demonstrated, holding herself stiffly while she bobbed her head and tapped her thigh in time. "But I didn't know anyone, and I ended up in the corner of shame with him."

"Let me guess. Love at first sight?"

"No!" she snorted. "It took like...three more accidental meetings before he awkwardly asked me to go get coffee, and he turned the brightest shade of red I've ever seen. And it was easy from there. Being with him. It was good. It was so, so good."

Her expression was lethal, like the sun was shining on her face. Hard not to notice her beauty, now, even through the hard days of grime and bruises and exhaustion.

"It crept up on me," she said. "Love. Little by little. That's how he was. You don't think about it, and then you realize what he's done. What he's been doing, all along. What he'd do for the people he cared about."

Her brief look of joy, lost in memories, faded.

"It was the big stuff I missed most, at first," she went on. "But now...it's the little stuff, really, you know? Redfield shuttled me from safe house to safe house after you took Rose, and I thought at first it would be a relief. Nothing to remind me of them, changing scenery, all that. But it's funny how losing someone works. You don't run away from it. The world remakes itself into the shape of that person."

She lifted her face, her profile limned with the red moonlight.

"He'd play piano, sometimes," she said. "Late at night. He always said he wasn't any good. But I'd stay up and listen without him knowing. I'd listen until he was done. Every time."

"He probably knew," Heisenberg said.

A faint smile touched Mia's face as her eyes turned, slowly, to rest on him. Heisenberg felt the weight of her gaze, its soft intensity, like she'd reached up to take his face in her hands.

"How long until dawn?" she asked.

"Hour, maybe."

"Then we're burning time." She cocked her rifle, checked its sights, gave a short nod. "Into the dark."

"And let's hope it doesn't fuck us."

The first few lycans jumped them as they skidded down the scree of broken masonry on the far side of the platform. Classic lycans, hairy wolf-men with makeshift weapons. Mia's rifle spat; Heisenberg crushed a couple skulls with his hammer. His Cadou wriggled inside him, sluggish as it struggled to metabolize the suppressant drug he'd been shot with. He kept his awareness engaged, but metal didn't sing; no hum or crackle of electricity. For the time being, he'd have to do this thing without the use of his power.

Fucking touche. Miranda had given him his powers, had twisted his body into a vessel for them. Typical that now he'd have to fight her without their help. He imagined her face, coldly beautiful. Her smile of calculated triumph.

Show me what you can do now, Little Karl.

Go on. I'm waiting.

One of the lycans lunged for him; he smashed it aside with particular force, splatting it against a block of cracked stone that still bore the paintings of dolorous, long-faced saints, rendered in faded blues and reds. Lots more red, now.

He twisted as gunfire cracked over his shoulder: Mia. The next lycan crumbled apart, its head and chest blown into chunks.

"I had it covered," Heisenberg drawled, shouldering his hammer as he flicked a fragment of crystal off his lapel.

"Uh-huh." Mia scanned the darkness, rifle trained outside their circle of light; howls echoed through the fog, but nothing leaped out at them immediately. "Anything here look familiar to you?"

"Nothing looks familiar to me, sweetheart, this place got put through a meat-grinder."

"That's not what I mean." She huffed a sigh. "I saw the explosion from the chopper. It...it went off in midair, not on the ground. The megamycete had lifted itself free of the cave system. If it blew aboveground, not below, the, uh- the-"

"Chunks?"

"...Sure. The chunks would have rained down on this place. Crushed it."

And Ethan below, Heisenberg thought. Mia must have come to the same conclusion, judging by the haunted look in her eyes.

"Your point?" Heisenberg prompted.

She gave her head a little, annoyed shake. "My point is that maybe there's something intact. Down below."

She pointed further into the pit. "Part of the old fortress, part of the old ceremony site...a cave system...I don't know."

"Could be."

Mia cocked her gun. The snap rang through the fog. "Let's find out."

The haunted look was gone as soon as it had come; now, Heisenberg saw the fever light of determination fill her gaze. That determination must have been what had allowed her to survive all these years, even with Miranda's ghost rattling around in her skull.

Had she known what it was at first? Or had she chalked it up to trauma, PTSD, what the fuck ever?

Of course, she was no stranger to voices in her head. She'd survived Dulvey, too. Three years under Eveline's control, three years of fighting the horrors inflicted on her by the child she'd helped mold into a monster. You had to emerge from that unfathomably strong, or completely insane. As Heisenberg followed her down the crumbling, makeshift pathway, spiraling deeper and deeper into the darkness, he wondered if she hadn't emerged as both.

More lycans. From all directions. They hit fast, hit strong. The smell of rot thickened in the air as Heisenberg and Mia descended, and between the bursts of claws and fangs and gunfire pound, Heisenberg caught sight of the various makeshift dwellings the lycans had fashioned from bits of the village, stacked stones, animal skins, antlers and gnawed bones. Even crude ornaments, dangling from entryways, crow feathers and pebbles, vertebrae and chunks of crystal.

What god did the lycans worship? Their memory of Miranda, and the Black God? Or some eldritch thing birthed from the dregs of their hive-mind, the kind of god only a feral predator could dream up?

Eyes glimmered from caves formed from collapsed pillars; one lycan, massive and musclebound, wore scraps of what looked like scavenged Soldat Panzer exoskeleton, a walking biomechanical wonder.

What an enterprising lad. Shame he had to die.

That was a group effort- Heisenberg swept forward and with a colossal swing of his hammer, smashed the front plate of its helmet off, exposing a scarred-up face twisted with rage. Mia sprang under his arm and delivered the coup de grace in the form of a bullet to the gob. As it slumped to the side, raining in shards into the darkness below, Mia paused, breathing hard, scanning their surroundings. Heisenberg did the same, but there was nothing. More lycan dens, more broken masonry, more blocks of cracked stone wreathed in mist.

A chorus of growls and snarls, the screech of claws in stone, scrabbled somewhere behind them. Mia pushed off; Heisenberg followed her. She was in charge, now, a woman on a mission. Her head down, she ducked under a gateway formed of blocks of fallen stone and into a narrow channel beyond, a ravine formed of rubble. Lycans advanced. She sprayed an arc of bullets, her lips drawn back from her teeth. When one collapsed at her feet, wounded, still crawling toward her, she drove her boot onto its head, crushing it to the dirt.

"Come on!" she yelled at Heisenberg, a few meters behind her, and headed into the fog again. "There has to be something- we just need to keep looking!"

"Mia," Heisenberg muttered.

"Don't you dare say my name like that," Mia snapped, glancing back at him. "He would do this for me. He...he already did this for me. I have to keep looking." "I know-"

"Then keep up!"

She rounded a corner and almost ran head-first into a knot of lycans. She stumbled back; her rifle came up, muzzle flash illuminating the fog in one, two, three bursts. Crystal shattered, bone reduced to hissing pulp under the anti-mutant rounds. Mia's scream filled the air as the lycans fell, as she demolished the next wave, and the next.

They were coming, and in force; Heisenberg glanced up at the ring of glimmering green eyes, the bared fangs, the rusty metal and pieces of broken antler clutched in clawed hands. With a little shake of his shoulders, he waded in. His hammer swung through the flashes of gunfire, through Mia's howl of rage as she fought them back, on and on until the air was as thick with gore as it was with fog, a bloody mist that clung in a pinkish sheen to Heisenberg's coat and dripped down from his hat brim.

The last of the lycans crumbled apart, ribs gaping to the sky. Mia stared at it, panting, eyes white-ringed and bright. She slumped against a block of ancient brick, closing her eyes.

"Mia," Heisenberg said, approaching her. He reached out for her arm. A gash had sliced through her sweater- a lycan's claw swipe- and bled freely down the thick material.

She rounded on him with a gasp, lifting her rifle. Its barrel knocked him in the middle of the chest; he didn't flinch.

"Do you understand?" Mia said. "I have to keep looking."

"I know."

"He...he's dead because...because I didn't tell him, because I...lured him there..." Her rifle barrel dipped. She shook her head back and forth, glazed and manic. "If...if I hadn't, he would still be alive. He would still be-"

"Eveline did that. Right? Not you."

A sob choked her. "You don't get it. It doesn't matter." She shoved back from him, stumbling through the rubble. "It doesn't matter. I-"

She drew a short breath. "I..."

She blinked.

"You what?" Heisenberg said.

"I recognize that," Mia said, staring over his shoulder.

Heisenberg turned. It reared through the devastation: part of a gateway, attached to a short, broken flight of steps. Heavy, blocky, chiseled from red-brown rock. The same bedrock the village had been built atop; the same stone he'd stared at for countless hours while Miranda indoctrinated him, or sliced into him, or rummaged around in his insides, trying to perfect him. He remembered the flicker of flame-shadows off its surface, the play of flashlight beams on its distant walls.

"Shit," Mia breathed.

She moved past Heisenberg and toward the gateway. It listed to one side, half-sunk into the earth, but it was still connected to something. Mia vaulted onto the steps and climbed up, pulling herself onto the lip of the gateway and balancing atop it to peer inside. Heisenberg followed, setting the head of his hammer against the frame, staring in after her.

Beyond-

A narrow cleft of darkness breathed frigid air across them.

"This was the entrance to the lab," Mia murmured. "I remember from when she brought me here. I remember thinking...it looked beautiful. Like an ancient temple. Something from a dream..."

"Yeah, well, bet she broke you of that opinion real fuckin' fast."

Mia sniffed, scrubbing her bloodied palm over her face. Heisenberg could hear her heartbeat, fast as a hare in a trap's. He knew what she was thinking, as much as if they shared a hive mind themselves. Miranda's lab had been built right below the ceremony site. The caves, too. The hallowed cathedral in the earth, the inner sanctum of the Black God.

Ethan had died right above the caves, and if they were still, in some way, intact, and the whole place had fallen in...

Well.

Mia was silent. No big surprise. Few words sufficed when staring down at the tomb of a loved one.

Heisenberg glanced at her.

"You gonna stand there all night?" he said.

She gave a small shudder, as if bracing herself, then shook her head. "No." And without another pause, she stepped over the edge and dropped into the darkness below.

Heisenberg was right behind her, clambering down the three-meter incline and into the passageway beyond. The cavern stretched beyond, a hallway chiseled of that same bedrock stone, torch brackets set into the walls, the floor scattered with chips of stone and a decade's worth of dust. Great cracks seamed the walls, but the place was intact, relatively speaking, the entire hallway tilted downward at a sharp angle.

In the explosion the entire cavern system must have just fallen into the earth, the tons of rock above it burying, yet also preserving, it. Like a mausoleum. As Heisenberg took a deep breath of the still, damp air, he smelled a familiar trace of incense, rich spices and musk winding its way deep into his skull, illuminating the century of memories locked within.

How many times had he walked this hallway? How many times had he strode between enshrined saints, hammer dripping with their devotees' blood? A traitor in their midst, an impostor saint, a false prophet's mongrel. They stared down at him now, statues of long-dead holy men anointed with dust, with the crystallized remains of their dead god.

He thought of Ouroboros' files on him, the rote, dry facts of his unnatural life that Mia had offered to him, and that he had refused. If the devout were right, these saints had seen those years, too, had whispered the litany of his life to the Black God itself, so it might dream of him forever. Did they remember him now, all the things he'd done, who he truly was, even if he didn't?

Didn't matter. Fuck them. Their god had demanded death, and if Heisenberg knew one thing, it was that everyone got what was coming round to them.

Mia's breathing quickened as the caves sloped down, and down, as they climbed over a stream gushing from a crack in the cave wall, as her boots crunched on broken glass, and crystal, and the remnants of a shattered gilt icon.

And when Heisenberg's flashlight beam struck the bolt-studded wood of a door, her gasp was painful, a blade-edge rasp on the edge of a sob.

It was warped in the broken frame, but as Heisenberg and Mia alike set their weight against it, it juddered open, spilling a cloud of dust and light into the broken space beyond.

Miranda's lab, Heisenberg thought.

The remains of her lab, anyway, the vaulted chambers where she'd conducted her personal experiments well-away from the eyes of the villagers. Couldn't have them believing she was capable of anything less than sorcery, after all. A column of ruddy moonlight filtered down from a rift in the cavern roof somewhere high above, filling the ruins with a bloody pall. A shelf of shattered specimen jars, each filled with a lump of crystal that had once been a Cadou, leaned drunkenly against a collapsed heap of brick wall. Shreds of decomposed papers and files were scattered like leaves; Heisenberg scuffed aside a damp-spotted photograph of Moreau without his overcoat. Crushed tables, and broken glass, and cell bars bent and warped from the bomb's heat. Everywhere, calcified roots burst from walls and floor, crushing the lab into a nearly-unrecognizable mess.

Above all loomed the broken remains of a statue. One of the Four Kings that had once ringed the ceremony site. His melancholy face was blackened on one side, a point of his crown snapped off at the root.

This was the ceremony site, Heisenberg realized, collapsed inward, crushed into this cavern space. He sent his awareness, all his enhanced senses, into the darkness. Searching for a trace, a flicker of hibernating essence, of a mutant in stasis.

Silence.

"Ethan?" Mia called. She pushed forward, stumbling over the calcified roots. "Ethan? Are you there?"

She bent and began to dig through the rubble with her bare hands. Stone clattered; dust billowed, thick and choking. "He's...he's got to be here...could he have regenerated? Like the others? Ethan!"

Her voice rang over the distant rush of water, the sound of crumbling stone, echoing from deeper inside the ruins. Heisenberg picked his way after her as she dug her way on, as she clawed at the broken masonry, her eyes wild, her entire body shaking.

"I know he's here," she said. "Heisenberg, you've got to...you've..." She took a sharp breath, jagged and choked. "He'll be so glad to see you. You saved Rose, after all- you're gonna..."

She cut off as she bent to drag aside a slab of flagstone floor. "We're all going to be a family again. Just like I planned. You'll see. You'll see..."

She trailed off. The echoes of her voice rang away and away, fading into dusty silence. Heisenberg caught up to her, watching the back of her head, the rise and fall of her shoulders.

Before her, the column of moonlight glimmered off milky crystal.

Ethan's body lay at her feet.

He was broken. One arm missing, shattered off at the shoulder. His face had cracked down the middle, his single remaining eye closed. He knelt there, head lowered, his body half-buried, his hand clasped to his heart.

The crystal there had warped in strange, intricate patterns. In this light, they almost looked like roses.

Mia made a small sound. She edged forward, one step, another.

"Is he..." she whispered. "Is...is there..."

"No, Mia," Heisenberg said. Weary, weary. "There's...nothing. Nothing left. He's gone."

She reached out with a trembling hand. "It's okay, baby." She smoothed it over his cheek, thumb tracing his lips. "It's okay. I found you, didn't I?"

All at once, she fell to her knees, holding his face, holding him. Her shoulders curled in; she shook under the weight of her tears. Terrible, wracking, like they'd been torn from deep inside her. She buried her face in the broken crook of Ethan's neck and sobbed, her hands in white-knuckled fists, clinging onto his body as if that would prove enough to bring him back.

***

Mia's sobs wound down into silence, and the hush crept in. Still she held him. Heisenberg leaned on his hammer, eyes lowered, watching the dust dance in the moonlight.

Saints and gods, sacred words whispered in the dark. There was nothing holy here anymore. Nothing sacred. All of it had died with Ethan, with his last kiss pressed to little Rose's head. All of it was gone with him.

At last, Mia let Ethan's body go. She crawled away, into a corner of the rubble, where she sat, slumped over her knees, staring into nothingness.

"I think part of me always knew," she said after a while. "All this time. All these wasted years." She gave her head a little shake. "I was so stupid to think I could save him. To think I could make this all better, make all this go away. I already got my chance for that."

Heisenberg made himself speak. "Yeah, you did."

She closed her eyes, bowing her head.

"Doesn't mean he loved you any less." Heisenberg approached her. "Doesn't mean you get to give up now."

She laughed, emotionless. "Too late."

"No. No." He swooped to one knee at her side, grabbing her face in his hand. He turned her head, away from Ethan's body, toward him. "No, Mia. You don't get to. Because if you do then so do I. You understand?"

He gave her a shake. He felt her tremble under his glove, her face so close to his he could see the tears clinging to her lashes, the blood spackling her mouth.

"You don't give up, Mia," he said. He ran his thumb over her lips, taking the bloodstains with it. "I'm not gonna let you."

Slowly, he released her face. His fingertips left red welts against her skin. "We might have failed Ethan," he said. "But Rose is still out there. And we. Won't. Fail. Her."

She blinked. A flutter of lashes. Then something seemed to leave her. Mia's head slumped forward, against his chest, one hand curling into his shirt, pulling herself closer, against him. The other brushed the scar crossing his throat, the scruff at his jaw, a lock of dirty gray hair.

Heisenberg hesitated. She was so warm against him. He felt the pressure of her breathing on his skin. The gentle pulse of her heartbeat.

Another long moment of silence, of dust and ruin around them. Just two horrible people, kneeling together in the dark.

Then he lifted his hand and ran it, slowly, over her hair. It was just as filthy as his. Something kind of sweet about that.

"I think I already failed her enough," Mia murmured, as he stroked her head. "Ethan...Ethan would want me to live. To keep fighting."

"Yeah, probably."

"Are you gonna be any more comforting than that?"

"Sweetheart. We've spent the past few days in each other's fine company. Surely you know better by now."

"Right, right, fine."

"Besides. We still have enemies, even once the other Lords deal with Ouroboros," Heisenberg went on. A snarl entered his voice. "Don't you want the chance to destroy that bitch Miranda for good after what she did to you?"

"You're such a bad influence," Mia told him. "Ruining all my aspirations toward achieving a moral high ground."

"Cool your jets, Winters. You managed that all by yourself." He pressed his forehead to hers for a moment, then pulled her to her feet. "Any bright ideas on how we can deal with that big, bad artillery unit topside?"

A dark light entered Mia's eyes. "I'm sure I can think of something."

She pulled from his hands and went to Ethan's remains, kneeling once again at his side. The moonlight filled its facets, made it seem to glow softly from within. Mia brushed her hand over his crystallized hair, as if to straighten it. She clasped his hand, stroking her thumb over the ridge of his knuckles.

"Goodbye, my love," she whispered to him, and leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I promise I'll come back for you."

***

Another burst of flames lit the sky as Heisenberg and Mia emerged from the crater depths. Even down here, the air smelled like ashes, cutting over even the overwhelming reek of lycan and rotting flesh.

"What's your power situation?" Mia asked.

Heisenberg splayed a hand, then shrugged, the movement accentuated by the hammer propped on his shoulder. "Still suffering from projectile dysfunction."

"Of course you are. Ugh..." She was checking over her weapons, taking stock. "Shit. I'm almost out of ammo."

"Then make what you've got count."

She glanced up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles so pronounced her face had a faintly cadaverous appearance, a new sharpness. Something inside her had set, and hardened. He heard it in her voice, too. "If I can get to that lab with the lycans, there's gonna be an antidote. It should get your Cadou metabolizing fast enough to work through the suppressant."

"Uh-huh." He'd barely heard her after she said the words lab with the lycans. "Now there's an idea."

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Are you, though?" He grinned at her. "I'll explain on the climb up."

Another artillery shot blasted the skies as they reached the lip of the crater, Mia sporting a couple new scratches courtesy of the lycans. If she was in pain, she didn't show it. She scrambled to a rock shelf behind a copse of trees and crouched down, rifle at the ready like some kind of black ops guy from one of the shitty action movies Heisenberg had binged with Rose.

He ambled behind her, squinting over his glasses at the camp. With Regan and company gone, the amount of soldiers was cut down significantly. Still, he could see the black-armored figures ringing the artillery, moving in and out of the prefabs, keeping the lycans back from the fence as, above, the Rose monster dived and strafed through the clouds, the pressure of its wingbeats driving spikes of pain through his head.

Well, fuck me, he thought, a little impressed despite himself. Somehow, the artillery fire was keeping her back.

And maybe something else was, too.

Keep fighting, kid. I'm coming for you. I told you I would, didn't I?

Still, Ouroboros knew what they were doing when it came to holding off giant flying bioweapons. And he had little doubt Regan had left orders to shoot them both in the head if they showed their faces in camp without Ethan in tow. And he wasn't about to suggest Mia bring his corpse back up to use as protective coloration.

Well. He might have. Her face if he did would be something to behold. But right now, it would only waste time.

"There," Mia whispered, pointing. One of the lycans had wriggled partway through a gnawed gap in the fence; a bullet drove it back, and it hightailed, but the loose scrap of fence lingered. "Through there, and to the lab."

"After you."

Mia gave herself a little nod- then darted. She streaked through the shadows, little more than a flicker of movement, a scatter of snow, ducking and rolling through the fence before the artillery unit's searchlight swept the area. Heisenberg shook his head in approval and followed, somewhat less gracefully, shoving his shoulders through the fence and into the camp in a clatter of metal. Fuck this, he thought, grinding his teeth. The second he got his powers back, he was taking this whole goddamn camp and crushing it like a car compacter.

Pressing into the shadows cast by an old house, he and Mia watched the flurry of movement in camp. Soldiers trooped by; a temporary munitions stand had been set up alongside the Maiden of War, gunmetal and carbon-fiber at odds with the crystal growths and painted wood surrounding them. The heat from the artillery unit shimmered in the air, melting the snow into a glassy sheen over the ground below.

Heisenberg eyed the artillery, assessing it with a flick of his eyes. Simple enough. A lot like the ones he'd spent decades playing with back at his factory, mounting them on anything stout enough to hold them purely for the fun of seeing how the vehicle in question held up under fire. Pop a couple wires here and there, and the whole weapon would be dead in the water.

First things first. He jerked his head toward the lab with brows raised.

"Hang on," Mia whispered. She stared toward the group of Moreau-aficionados still huddled on one side of the square. They had all joined hands and were singing in old-tongue, some ancient prayer to the Black God for protection. "We need to get them out."

"Seriously?"

"Yes!" she hissed. "Moral high ground, remember? Shut up and follow me."

They ducked through the ruined house itself and came up behind the prisoners. A punch from Heisenberg launched their guard straight into unconsciousness; he yanked him backward into the house, leaving him in a heap on the kitchen floor.

The girl with the shaved head gasped as Mia shook her shoulder, then blinked, her pale eyes widening so far they looked as if a good slap might knock them right out of her head.

She flung herself to her hands and knees as best she could in her shackles. "Lord Heisen-"

"Shut it," Heisenberg growled. "And listen."

"We're gonna get you out of here. This place is about to turn into a shitshow," Mia said. "You need to get as far away as you can before-"

"-Before I release all the lycans in that lab over there on the poor, unsuspecting fools you see before you," Heisenberg cut in.

The girl's mouth opened in a perfect O. "The lycans?" she echoed.

"That's what I said. Now how do these cuffs-"

The girl babbled over him. "Lord...Lord Moreau prophesied this. He in his infinite wisdom...he saw that this day would pass, that there would come a time when I, and his other loyal followers, would need to walk through the ranks of the monster wolves themselves, and emerge unscathed from the other side!"

She launched into rummaging through the mess of amulets and charms she wore slung about her neck, her skinny fingers trembling. At last she came up with a phial attached to a long piece of cord. It was made of old, yellowed glass, sealed with a gob of wax. Inside swirled a thick black substance.

"This holy relic will protect us against the lycans," the girl said.

"What is that?" Mia squinted at the stuff.

But Heisenberg grinned, with as many teeth as a lycan itself.

"It's spores," he said. "From the Black God. Take too long to get into the science, but this shit's what the megamycete seeded its hosts with to maintain control, stop them from slaughtering one another. Anything with this stuff on them will read as one of the lycans. They'll smell it on us and ignore us."

He chuckled. "Well, well. Moreau, you clever bastard. There's hope for you yet."

"It won't last long, so you must hurry," the girl said. She had already popped the wax and was busy smearing the other cultists with the black spores.

"Nag, nag, nag, buttercup," Heisenberg said. The girl pressed the vial into his hand, holding on for a moment. He tugged his hand away before she might start kissing it or whatever. "Get ready to run along to the reservoir. Your- uh, Lord Moreau's down there."

Elation lit the girl's eyes. "Black God bless you, Lord Heisenberg."

He didn't bother pointing out the Black God would probably rather eat him than bless him. He rubbed a streak of spores on his wrist, then did the same for Mia.

The monster strafed by; it swept through the clouds, the backdraft from its wings blasting through the camp. The timbre of its roars had changed- they now were an enraged, thunderous bellow, each strafe growing lower, lower, shaking the ground like the aftershocks of an earthquake.

Was Miranda winning?

Hang on, Rose.

Shouts filled the air as Heisenberg and Mia burst from the ruined house, Mia peppering the snow with suppressing fire, keeping back the few soldiers who weren't focused on the black-feathered monstrosity circling ever-closer. One of its tentacles lashed down, tearing a gash from the roof of a dilapidated house, then furling back into the clouds. Heisenberg's hammer cracked skulls, shattered firing hands, sent the door guard sprawling aside as they ducked into the lab.

The sterile air hit him like a punch to the teeth, light burning his eyes. The researchers within all sprang to their feet, scrabbling for the peashooters at their belts. Mia stuck her rifle under the first guy's chin.

"Get out of here," she growled.

The gun would have been enough, Heisenberg figured. But Mia's whole look- ragged and bruised and splattered with lycan gore- sure as hell didn't hurt. The scientists scattered. Mia pushed a rolling chair aside and tapped at a computer, its pale light illuminating the lines on her face. Behind them, the rows of lycans clawed at their cages, desperate to get out.

"You got the accelerant?" Heisenberg said.

Her eyes flickered back and forth. "I...I don't see it-"

Shouts echoed outside the lab. Heisenberg leaned alongside Mia. "Come on, it's gotta be there somewhere-"

"I-"

Gunfire pounded the air. Heisenberg ducked over Mia, bringing them both down against the console as the air filled with sparks and the rattle of bullets against metal; the lab door hung crooked, half-torn-away by gunfire. They were coming in.

Heisenberg saw it, now. There was no time. They'd run out of options.

All except one.

Fuck it, he decided. "Mia."

"What?"

"Release the lycans. Then get to the big gun."

"Huh?"

"I'm going after Rose. Fend her off with the artillery so I can draw her away."

"Without your power?"

"I don't need my power for this. I know Rose. And Miranda." He pressed his finger to his temple. "I can fuck with her head just like she fucked with mine. Now you get your ass out the door and into that gun or we're all screwed."

She rounded on him, the small of her back pressed to the console. For a moment he thought she would protest. For a moment he thought she'd try to stop him, spare him, like she'd fought so hard to spare Ethan. Her face was hard, the look in her eyes bright enough to burn him alive.

He heard the hiss of her breathing through her parted lips, made out the tremble of her lashes as her eyes held his.

Slowly, Mia slipped his glasses off his nose. She lifted her face, her knuckles to his chest as she gripped his shirt in both hands, as she pulled him down, as her mouth canted, desperate, devastating, to his.

A hesitation-

A brush of her mouth, a lilt of her lips over his-

And then she was kissing him, and her fingers were tangled in his hair; his hands found Mia's face, her waist, the soft press of her hips into his. Her lips were chapped, were bitter with blood. For a moment he was lost, adrift, nothing in the world but the feeling of her mouth on his, of her grip on him, her knuckles pressed hard to his chest, just over his living, beating heart.

Her face fell from his, her mouth from his, her face brushing his cheek with a rasp of scruff to skin. The cold twined between them again. Heisenberg's heart pounded, his Cadou pulsing in time; pressed to him the way she was, Mia probably felt that as much as she felt everything else. He didn't care. He traced her cheek with his thumb, not wanting to pull away, not wanting to let her go.

"We can still cut and run," he murmured. He cocked an eyebrow. "Last chance."

Mia snorted. She nudged her forehead to his, kissed the delicate skin just under his jaw. All too soon, she pulled back.

"Go," she told him. She returned his shades to his face. "Find Rose. Get her back."

She stood from him, gripping the cage control on the console- a big, red handle surrounded by warning signs. "For Ethan."

Heisenberg gave her a single nod, his hat brim dipping. "See you around," he said. "Winters."

Her small returning smile would stick with him a long, long time. "You, too," she told him. "Karl."

He swung his hammer back onto his shoulder with a clang.

Mia turned the handle.

With the screech of hinges, every cage in the lab swung open at once. The lycans lunged out, a seething tide of matted gray hair and savage, starving eyes, claws and twisted muscle and teeth asnarl. Moreau's spores did the trick- none of them paid any attention to Heisenberg or Mia. As the creatures leaped for the exits, tearing great holes in the prefab walls with tooth and nail, as they hit the Ouroboros soldiers outside hard and fast as a lightning strike, Heisenberg strode out after them, rummaging in his coat for a cigar.

Just like old times, he thought. Practically nostalgic.

By the time he ducked back into the camp, it was in chaos. Gunfire lit the skies, muffled under screams, snarls, feral howls as the lycans clambered atop buildings and vehicles, as they took down commandos three to one. A couple of the beasts tore through the fence, collapsing it under their weight. More lycans surged in from outside, tangling and tumbling over one another in their greed to get in at the fresh meat.

The screams began to die, began to be replaced with the sound of tearing flesh, of bones snapping and crackling from their joints.

Heisenberg lit the cigar with what appeared to be the last of his matches as he left the camp, as he ascended the rise beyond. If he was gonna die today, might as well do so feeling like himself. The cigar tasted a little stale, a little moldy, but it was better than nothing.

Besides. A good Cuban was a good Cuban, and- even better- it looked like it was gonna be a nice morning.

At the edge of the horizon, past the mountains, a faint trace of gold lit the blizzard. Dawn. It illuminated the monster, illuminated the impossible span of its eight wings, the rain of mold sheeting down from them as the artillery fire ceased- gunner dead or tossed out on their ass, courtesy of Mia. As the monster wheeled round, coming back in his direction.

Heisenberg took a deep drag off his cigar, let the smoke twine through his lungs- one last time, heh- then flicked it to the snow and crushed it under his boot.

He lifted his arms to the monster.

"Miranda!" he yelled. "Remember me?"

And in a rush of darkness, the beast that was Miranda, that was Rose, fell from the skies, wings spread, talons open and aimed straight for him.

[jeniffercheck]

Everybody moved on I stayed there (Karolina’s cramps hitting while they’re literally all on a private jet over the ocean and shiv helping her) (this may or may not be prompt if you want it)

a cute little one-shot for u under the cut!!! thank you for the prompt<333

words: 1.3k !!!

“Did you get that, Karolina?”

Karolina looks up from her notepad, an expectant Frank staring right at her. She tries to remember what it is he’d just said, something about stock market perception and if they should get out ahead, but ahead of what?

“Uh, yeah, I think—um,” she stammers her way through, poorly biding herself time, and stone-faces herself through another vicious twisting inside her abdomen, it taking everything in her not to cry out. She can feel the eyes on her, watching, as if she’s the only person in the room who could possibly have an answer.

“She already said it’s a non-starter.”

Shiv. All eyes are now on the redhead, whose rolling eyes are poking out from behind an issue of The New Yorker. Frank looks from Shiv and back to Karolina, she thinks if he were any smarter, he’d be suspicious. She also thinks if he were any smarter, he could tell she hasn’t been listening to a word he’s said for the past fifteen minutes.

“Right, thank you, Shiv,” Karolina says, and she scrambles, still trying to bide enough time for her mind to catch back up. “I just think, you know—if we want the public perception to stick with us, then—”

“You wanna know what I think?” Shiv interrupts, the magazine now in her lap.

“Not really,” Roman chimes in, obviously inconsolably bored since Gerri isn’t on this trip to torture. Karolina’s inconsolably tortured since Gerri isn’t around to buffer.

“Tough shit,” Shiv says as she leans forward. “Why are we bringing attention to it? A security guard got caught insider trading because he decided to fucking Watergate in the twenty-first century, so we fired him. That’s the response.”

Shiv eyes Karolina as she leans back, quirking an eyebrow. To everyone else, it must look like a challenge. To Karolina, Shiv’s just thrown her the ball.

“I hate to say it, but she has a point,” Roman says. “What kind of security guard forgets that we have, like, actual security?”

“Fine, say we’re covered on that end,” Frank says, “That doesn’t solve the issue of the stolen files.”

Karolina feels like she’s back in high school and just got caught doodling, put on the spot for a cold call about a chapter in the book she didn’t even know existed.

“Uh—do we have Gerri’s read on this yet?” Karolina asks. “We can’t say anything until we know the legal implications.”

Safe. Legalities are always a safe bet.

“She’s meeting us at the office after we land,” Karl says. “Ideally, we’ll have a statement or two prepared if we need to move.”

A statement or two. As if that’s not a whole day’s worth of fucking work, and they want her to do it in the middle of a plane ride, and go to the office after, all the while her stomach feels like it’s being carved out by a fucking spackle knife. She takes a deep breath, knowing it probably looks like stress rather than feeling like she could be meeting her untimely death by way of menstruation, but she takes a shot.

“Okay, well—if he’s threatening to expose, then that’s extortion on top of insider trading,” she says. “Blackmailers aren’t protected by whistleblowing laws, it’s simple.”

“And if he exposes us on his way to the big house?” Roman asks.

“Then, he’s a disgruntled employee who got caught with his fucking dick out and we say he’s lying,” Karolina says. “It’s not rocket science, boys.”

All three men look at each other, clearly surprised by the slight outburst. She doesn’t really have it in her to care. They’re being dense, and she’s about thirty seconds away still stuck in this conversation from puking up her guts.

“Well?” Karolina asks.

“Nothing,” Karl says, sharing a look with Frank. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“You’ll write that down?” Frank asks, and Karolina nods sharply, her gaze resuming on her notepad and her laptop. She stares at the blank word processor, willing the words to just come to her, but the pounding in her head is getting worse and the ache that was supposed to dull as a result of four painkillers is still rampant inside her, and she knows she’s getting closer to not being able to hide the pain.

It’s then that she feels a nudge against her arm, something like the pages of a magazine, and she turns her head to face Shiv, eyes less calculating and much more concerned than they seemed to be only moments ago.

“Can I run something by you?” Shiv asks quietly, gesturing behind her. The thought of getting up feels like voluntary torture, and even though she’s not a masochist, she is still a somewhat unofficial handler of the three heirs to the throne, and she and Shiv had promised each other they’d act normal. To not draw attention. So, giving in to a Roy child’s every demand, even if that demand is to go into the back of the jet and run something by her, is normal.

“Sure,” Karolina nods. She stands slowly, thankful the place is small enough for her to use her hand to brace herself against the wall without it being a big deal, and she follows Shiv into the jet’s only bedroom, grateful Roman had already put on headphones and closed his eyes before he could see them retreating.

It’s only a matter of seconds before that deep pain rolls through her again, and ss soon as Shiv locks the door, Karolina tries to get straight to business.

“What’s this about?” she asks, patience wearing especially thin.

“You looking paler than Karl when he saw the Q3 report,” Shiv says, “c’mon, sit down.”

Shiv takes Karolina’s hands and guides her to the small bed, and Karolina sits down, her eyes squeezing shut as she does, every movement opening herself back up to a resurgence of the throbbing. A gentle hand meets her forehead and she opens her eyes to Shiv’s worried gaze.

“What’s wrong?” Shiv asks.

“Just a little motion sickness, Shiv, I’ll be fine,” Karolina says. She knows it isn’t convincing, but the last thing she needs is Shiv hovering, especially when they have a newly lit fire to put out.

“I’ve flown with you how many times?” Shiv asks, “And you’ve never gotten sick.”

Karolina doesn’t have the energy to back up the lie, so she doesn’t. Shiv sighs quietly, a kinder sound in place of her usual scoff.

“It’s me, Karolina,” Shiv says. “I won’t tell on you, alright?”

And then Shiv’s hands are rubbing up and down the sides of her arms, and she can’t hold it back anymore. Tears spring to her eyes, despite what’s left of her efforts.

“It’s just—cramps, Shiv,” Karolina says, already embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal.”

Karolina’s tight knuckles and short breath aren’t as convincing as she’d like them to be, but she doesn’t have a choice. It can’t be a big deal, not when there’s work to be done.

“Have you taken anything?” Shiv asks.

“Enough to cause an ulcer,” Karolina says, dropping her head into her hands. She digs her elbows into her stomach, like the pressure will do anything, and the bed dips as Shiv sits down next to her, rubbing a hand across her back.

“Are they always this bad?”

Karolina nods into her hands.

“I have something stronger at home,” Karolina says, lifting her head. “And God knows how long we’ll be stuck at the office.”

It’s just her luck that her period would come early while she’s thirty feet up in the air, on top of the one trip that needs them directly back at the office, but that’s just life. Beyond that, Waystar isn’t exactly the most sympathetic employer when it comes to women’s issues.

“Well, how does this sound—we’ll bang those two plans out together right now, and when we land, I’ll go pick up the medicine,” Shiv suggests.

“Shiv—”

“Karolina, you could barely form a coherent thought back there,” Shiv says. Then, much softer, “Let me make this easier for you.”

Karolina’s brow furrows, whether from the pain or the small show of affection, she isn’t quite sure, but it seems pointless to deny this ask from Shiv, mostly because she’s too exhausted to reason with her, but also because it just feels good.

“Fine,” she says. “Thanks, Shiv.”

Shiv just pushes Karolina’s hair behind her ear, dropping a light kiss on Karolina’s forehead. The action makes her forget all about the aching in her abdomen for just a moment as she leans into the touch, and she wishes she could hold onto the feeling forever.

“You never have to thank me."

[thegodthief]

What're you most looking forward to next year? It can be spiritual / religious, or magical, or just completely mundane!

Every time I have looked at this ask, it has been a different time of day, and my answer will have changed accordingly! Let's see... since it looks like I'm going to stick around and make it everyone else's problem, what kind of problems do I want to get into?

LASAGNA! Garfield had it right, a good lasagna is a reason to keep going. Not the modern thick slabs of barely cooked pasta with meat flavored "sauce" and whipped cellulose cheese substitute. I want something that Baba made after sending us kids to all the grocery stores for just the right collection of cheeses. I want a lasagna slice so dense with animal proteins, a deep-dish pizza is going to spill itself in the oven in jealousy. I want a lasagna that requires a steak-knife to cut, none of this "press firmly with a spatula" bullshit. I need my ribs spackled!

Finishing Book Two. Really. Seriously. It's time to let the guilt of falling down go away and get back up and get back in it. When I look back and see what had happened that year, that so many people at work saw that I was spiraling in a bad way but chose to get popcorn, or worse, do nothing, so that when I crashed and openly broke down it was to no one's surprise... when I look back and see what I fucking lived through... Fuck it. Melissa's story is not going to get told unless I tell it. Even though I don't expect anyone to read it. I've noticed that stories set during the height of the pandemic are vigorously avoided. And I get that. A lot of people don't want to be reminded of what happened. But some of us don't have the luxury of forgetfulness and if finishing Book Two (and eventually, the planned series) is what helps me heal, well, it's cheaper than anything the medical system can offer me.

Change of Address. Last year, I had the opportunity to purchase a house. Between credit score and income, it looked like I was going to be able to do the thing after all. I had the help of some competent agents that were frank about what I could afford and what kind of neighborhoods that looked like around here. I almost jumped for it at the time, but did not. Staying put was the right thing to do after all that happened, but I haven't forgotten the opportunity is still there. I just want a better launch pad to go from. (Besides, if all works out, I might even get to host a dinner.)

Connecting with others. Because of what had happened to me at the local Well-known Pagan Occult Shop (they don't like being called pagan because SEO) a literal decade ago, I had given up on any local meet-ups, seminars, or even just safe places to hang out. I was well played and was being set up to be the Bad Person™ when I walked away and I knew that any attempt to tell the truth would just result in me being targeted harder for retaliation either by the asshole that took advantage of me or the people who thought he walked on water such that he was incapable of being a sexual predator. Just when I thought I could start again in other areas, the pandemic showed up, and in the midst of that, a Big Name Occultist revealed what all the outsiders knew about his leanings and getting away from all that left me stained and crushed because I thought I had learned my lesson from the first grifter, but apparently not. But. I survived that, just like I survived everything else, and learning how to make friends is going to be harder than learning how to live, but I'll give it a try.

MOAR BITCHING! I have become competent enough in Spanish that I can speak it at work and hold my own to the point where some of the native Spanish speakers look at me funny when they realize that I'm conversing with them because it's fluid enough for them to forget that it's not my first language. It feels like I've hit a critical milestone in that my lessons now are about the more obscure words, phrases, and topics to round things out. I'm not going to throttle down on the Spanish, but it's time for me to begin on a few other languages that I've always wanted to learn but my childhood teachers said I was too stupid to pick up. Spite is an incredible motivator. My goal is to be able to bitch out a cunt in at least three different languages in the same breath and still be parsable to any eavesdropping native speaker.

[introinjected]

i had a conversation with @shatteredapotheosis today about what each bg3 companion would be like as a modern day, capital G Gamer tm and this was what we settled on -

karlach - only really plays fifa and madden, but once someone shows her party games like mario party that's alllll she plays and gets super into it. she HATES playing games on her own but loves multiplayer stuff and is a delight to play with

shadowheart - everyone thinks she plays edgy stuff, horror games, and shooters, but actually she exclusively plays stardew valley and has put hundreds and hundreds of hours into her farm and takes it really seriously

gale - only plays old pc games from the 80s and 90s, and talks about it constantly like people won't know what he means (we all know what myst is gale, jesus). also has to bring up rogue whenever someone mentions a game being a roguelike.

astarion - plays really old games, master of pong and tetris (his high score is unbelievable) but has trouble wrapping his head around newer games. when someone shows him stuff like dress up doll games he goes wild and makes a million little astarions (he discovers picrew and has a field day). when he finds out you can be a vampire in the sims, he makes a picture perfect recreation of himself and the rest of the party and goes around turning them all.

lae'zel - LOVES fighting games and is TERRIBLE at them. she wants everyone to play them all the time and makes a big stink about losing but wants a rematch anyway and genuinely has fun. she's genuinely really good at grand strategy games but no one will play them with her because they take ages and she always wins.

minthara - plays nothing but dudebro shooters and is a horrible rager. calls teenage boys slurs in the chat and has a permanent visible spackle spot on the wall from throwing her controller. she is genuinely really good at them though, and she has a twitch following.

wyll - only really plays story heavy rpgs, but he gets really into them. he can never make the evil or morally questionable choices and he takes pride in it. he romances the same person on every run of any game with romance options.

jaheira - everyone thinks she's an old person who doesn't get video games, but she actually plays a lot of narrative indie games and is really good at old point and click adventures

minsc - terrible at all video games anyone tries to get him to play EXCEPT pokemon. he picks his team based on how cute they are and somehow kicks ass even though he has a horrible team comp. he prefers to play traditional board games and he's also really good at those, but he insists on playing with boo sometimes and ALWAYS loses if boo is playing.

halsin - candy crush. BUT he loves when everyone else talks about their games and hobbies and listens intently, so he knows a LOT about games, even if he only ever fiddles around on his phone.